I trust you’ll do the same. [ And: ] I also ask that we not speak of this again once we leave these ruins.
[ Ilsa knows Eustace wouldn’t, but for her sanity, it needs to be said. Because surely, this would be a one time thing that both would try to put out of their memory (heh).
The weight of what she’s actually going to do hits her once he offers no more resistance. It doesn’t deter her, but it does appall the objective part of her that tells her she’s being an impulsive fool. She’s doing this with Eustace of all people: someone she’s been careful to remain composed and professional around, because there’s always been a little part of her that still sees him as friendly competition.
So each layer of fabric that she peels off feels like a literal unbearing of her soul, and she shouldn’t worry what he thinks, but she does. But she pummels forward because this is what she’s always done. She is strong. It was merely a physical act. A practical one, she thinks, discarding the rest of her top somewhere near her holster. Any uncertainty or fear she feels has to be carefully kept deep within her, masked by a determination to keep whatever dignity she can.
She works in silence as she pulls down her pants and leans down to step out of them, increasingly unable to not steal glances at Eustace’s exposed body as she straightens back up and is left in her bra and panties.
That’s a mistake.
She is no blushing virgin, having made a few missteps despite her resolve to overcome her heat, but given the nature of her demanding work and her misfortune in love… She’s pretty close to one.
And unfortunately, she’s staring a little too long, heart thudding loudly in her chest as she takes in every inch of sleek muscle. Some of the scars she recognizes. Some, especially the more hidden ones, she doesn’t. All of them are begging to be traced by her, and despite how frozen in place she seems, she finally walks towards him. ]
no subject
[ Ilsa knows Eustace wouldn’t, but for her sanity, it needs to be said. Because surely, this would be a one time thing that both would try to put out of their memory (heh).
The weight of what she’s actually going to do hits her once he offers no more resistance. It doesn’t deter her, but it does appall the objective part of her that tells her she’s being an impulsive fool. She’s doing this with Eustace of all people: someone she’s been careful to remain composed and professional around, because there’s always been a little part of her that still sees him as friendly competition.
So each layer of fabric that she peels off feels like a literal unbearing of her soul, and she shouldn’t worry what he thinks, but she does. But she pummels forward because this is what she’s always done. She is strong. It was merely a physical act. A practical one, she thinks, discarding the rest of her top somewhere near her holster. Any uncertainty or fear she feels has to be carefully kept deep within her, masked by a determination to keep whatever dignity she can.
She works in silence as she pulls down her pants and leans down to step out of them, increasingly unable to not steal glances at Eustace’s exposed body as she straightens back up and is left in her bra and panties.
That’s a mistake.
She is no blushing virgin, having made a few missteps despite her resolve to overcome her heat, but given the nature of her demanding work and her misfortune in love…
She’s pretty close to one.
And unfortunately, she’s staring a little too long, heart thudding loudly in her chest as she takes in every inch of sleek muscle. Some of the scars she recognizes. Some, especially the more hidden ones, she doesn’t. All of them are begging to be traced by her, and despite how frozen in place she seems, she finally walks towards him. ]